No One Can Help Me
by thegirlwhowouldbeking
Summary: Amongst the bustle following the Battle of Hogwarts, two lonely people find each other.
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter stared at the scarlet curtains of his four-poster bed, seeing only the blood that had been spilt that night. Spilt because of him. The faces of those who had perished swirled before his eyes; an echo of a laugh still glinting on Fred's face; Remus's ghostly form standing solemn and defeated, never to know his son. A tear crawled down Harry's cheek, a single drop of the ocean of sadness that welled within him, just under the surface.

Faint footsteps reached Harry's ear, and he looked up just in time to see the oak door fly open and the chubby face of Neville Longbottom peer round, anxious.

"Harry?"

He felt too weak to respond, or even acknowledge Neville's question. Instead, he just continued staring blankly into space, willing Neville to leave.

"Are you okay, Harry? I've been looking for you!"

The answer was obvious in Harry's mind. He felt he would never be okay again. Harry's grunted response, however, seemed to convey the opposite to Neville, who decided to continue his interrogation.

"Are Ron and Hermione around? I thought they'd be with you."

Realising that his minimal replies weren't going to quell Neville's curiosity, Harry reluctantly sat up. His mouth was dry as he attempted to speak. Finally, he managed to say, "they're downstairs… with Fred." His voice broke as he said the words and a stream of tears erupted from his green eyes. Neville resisted the urge to run forward and comfort Harry, sensing that this action would not be well received.

"I'll just leave you to it then," said Neville, flopping down on his bed. Subconsciously, he began to hum the tune of the victory chant that Peeves had been bellowing throughout the castle.

Realising that his peace had been permanently shattered, Harry stood up and left the room. He went slowly at first, wandering the corridors of the school which had been filled with screams just hours ago. Passing the Great Hall, he heard the muffled sobs of the bereaved, and glanced the red-headed Weasley family crowded around Fred's body. Despite his longing to join them, he felt that an invisible barrier had been built and that he simply didn't belong there. Not for the first time, Harry wished that his godfather was still alive, to help him through his grief. He was alone.

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><p>Draco Malfoy stared glumly at the mass of faces which had invaded the Great Hall. Of all the times he had felt alone at Hogwarts, this was the worst. Staring across the room, he caught sight of the Weasley family, crouched over the body of one of the twins (Draco didn't know which). Despite their grief, he felt a strange pang of envy whilst observing them, knowing that his family could never hold the same levels of affection for one another as the red-headed family across the hall.<p>

His mother was hunched over the lifeless body of Bellatrix Lestrange, yet she shed no tears. Lucius had moved away from them, his eyes haunted: the events of the last year had made his father a shadow of his former self, and the man was now a stranger to Draco. He found himself wondering whether his parents would be engaged in the same activities had he died in the battle, and concluded that they would. Things had changed between them too much, and though Lucius and Narcissa would have grieved the loss of their son it was a different Draco Malfoy they would have been mourning, and all three of them knew this.

It seemed to Draco that his family were invisible, with most people looking straight past them and the few glances that were shot their way beings ones of contempt. Everyone knew them as Death Eaters. Draco squinted down at the ugly mark across his forearm, standing out prominently against his pale skin. It still hadn't faded, despite the death of the wizard who gave it to him, and if anything looked more vivid than ever before, a lasting reminder of the evil that his family had committed.

Seeing the pained expression on her son's face, Narcissa moved forward to embrace him. Yet the touch felt repulsive to Draco, and he quickly shook her off. He didn't need his mother's sympathy, and couldn't help but blame her slightly for the situation he found himself in or for the isolation he felt. Draco looked away from her, and his gaze fell upon the body of his cousin Nymphadora. Suddenly sickened by the injustice of her lonely corpse whilst his mother watched over the remains of his Aunt Bellatrix, Draco felt he had to leave.

People parted as he made his way across the stone floor of the Great Hall, not wanting to even brush past him: Draco Malfoy, the Death Eater. He was alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry found himself wishing he'd kept the resurrection stone for just a little while longer. For a second, he even played with the idea of wandering back into the forest to search for it. He needed to talk to someone, and everyone he knew would be far too emotional, too attached. Harry yearned for a father. Someone he could trust. Someone who wouldn't judge him. Someone who understood what he'd lost.

Harry felt that, despite the physical resemblance, he and his dad had little in common. James had been loved, always. His parents had worshipped the very ground he walked on. At Hogwarts he was admired by everyone, envied by everyone. Harry had been despised for most of his youth. Even when he finally found some solace in friendship at Hogwarts, that didn't last. He was named Heir of Slytherin, hated for usurping Cedric's position as Hogwarts champion, loathed for spouting lies about Voldemort's return. He and James, it seemed to Harry, were polar opposites. Even Remus, whom Harry had confided in and respected so much, had known maternal love. Harry's hand darted to the scar on his forehead. A mark, as so often he had been told by Dumbledore, evidencing his mother's sacrifice: her complete devotion to her child. But try as he might, Harry simply could not recall any of this affection, and instead just heard Lily's horrific screams as a sharp green light stole her life from her.

No, Harry may have known love as a very young boy, and he may have men he could credit as paternal figures, but his real father was Sirius. Sirius was the one he could relate too. His parents' love had soon turned sour, just as Harry's had been ripped away. He had felt an outcast like Harry, rejected by his family. He had hated his cousins as much as Harry had once reviled Dudley. He too had found a friend who grew to be his brother, as Ron had for Harry.

Harry needed Sirius. He needed his godfather.

Subconsciously, his feet led him to where he had first encountered Sirius. The shrieking shack.

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><p>Draco hadn't a clue where he was going. He just put all of his trust in his feet, and prayed they took him somewhere safe. And, more importantly, somewhere solitary.<p>

The second he stepped out of the Great Hall, a feeling of relief flooded over him and he finally permitted the tears that had been building up inside him to pour down. Shaking, he broke into a run. Nature called out to him, and he burst through the vast doors of the castle and into the morning air. A misty hue surrounded Hogwarts, and it was clear that despite the obvious jubilation at the Dark Lord's demise, the castle was in mourning. It had lost more than bricks that night; pupils, former students and professors alike had been slaughtered. Draco let the grief flow over him and bellowed a scream. He felt like he was under the Cruciatus Curse, and knew that the sensation would never go away. He would always be tortured. Tortured by the horrible things he had done; the people he'd betrayed; the friends he had lost.

For the second time that morning, a dreadful pang of guilt swept over Malfoy. Vincent Crabbe's body had been brushed to one side, piled high on the mound of Death Eaters' bodies which had been left to rot in the dungeons. Narcissa had struggled for the corpse of her sister, yet Crabbe had had nobody to fight for him. No one to save him. Draco knew, in his heart, that it was his fault. Both Crabbe and Goyle had followed him blindly. When Draco was branded with Voldemort's mark, it was inevitable that those two would follow suit. Crabbe was dead because of his childish stupidity.

Whilst these thoughts had been turning in his mind, Draco had wandered mindlessly over the grounds of Hogwarts. Most of the fires had now burnt out through lack of fuel, but the earth seemed still to burn below Draco's feet and appeared as though it had been covered in a thick layer of shadow. And all of a sudden Draco found himself being consumed by the shadow. He was falling, falling, falling…

A passageway. Thin and narrow and claustrophobic and just what Draco needed. Something to strangle him more than his thoughts.

Curiosity eventually led him to walk onwards, through the tunnel. It sloped down, then up, then down again. Until finally Draco found himself on a steady upward slope, which emerged into a dusty, wooden room. There was only one place he could be. The shrieking shack.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry I've been ages updating. This chapter's been a real pain for me to write. It's been sitting on my desktop in the state it's in for quite a while now but I didn't want to upload it because it didn't feel right. However, despite the departure from the previous chapter formats, I think this is as good as it's going to get. The next chapter will be from Draco's POV. Tell me what you think. If you don't like it I can take it down and edit it so that it's more like the beginning. Thanks for reading.**

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><p>Harry was jerked out of his thoughts by a sound below. A low creaking of the floorboards. A bolt of panic shot straight through him, as though his scar had become real lightning and struck him from head to toe.<p>

Harry's mind began to recall the earlier events of that fateful day. Suddenly, he saw Snape's cold, black eyes gazing into his vivid green ones. His body was still lying in the shack, just feet away from where Harry stood. But beyond his vision, blocked from view by a splintered wall.

Harry recalled the first time he had entered the shrieking shack. Snape had snuck up on him and his friends as they confronted Sirius. The thought was a happy one. Despite the constant threat of Voldemort, Harry had been happier then. He had yet to experience real loss, yet to witness the death of those he held most dear. Of course, he had lost his parents, but never truly missed them. For how do you miss something you don't recall ever possessing? Of course, Harry had been orphan. But he had two great friends at Hogwarts, two friends that had never spoken a bad word against him. That stood behind Harry in everything he did, even if that involved trying to recover the most heavily guarded item in the world, or venturing into the Chamber of Secrets. Harry had been content in third year, and being in the shack reminded him of that. Yet, just as a faint smile had crossed Harry's lips at the memory of discovering his godfather, a horrific thought crossed his mind: Snape may be dead, but that doesn't mean his sneaking days are over. Another memory was playing back now as Harry was plunged once again into the Pensieve of his own mind. A black lake, hundreds of figures crawling towards him, and an old man lying beside him close to death. Snape had, after all, died as a favourite of Lord Voldemort. What if…

Harry whisked around, expecting the worst. Last time, it had been Dumbledore that had saved him from the Inferi. Harry felt unable to cope by himself, even if it was only one animated corpse he had to face.

Harry's fears were proved correct as pale skin began to emerge in the doorway, and quick as lightning he had screamed "Incendio!" with all his might. The holly wand served him well as all of a sudden the room was illuminated by flame and the hostile figure lay collapsed on the floor, writhing in the agony of the burns. Odd, thought Harry. As far as he recalled, it was the light the Inferi feared, not the heat. When he had used Sectumsempra on them, the effects had been non-existent. Why, then, was Snape not reacting to pain in the same manner?

He stepped closer, and saw to his horror that the figure in a heap on the floor was not Snape at all. The thin features of Draco Malfoy were lying beneath him, his grey eyes staring upwards in terror. "Aguamenti," Harry muttered, pouring water from the tip of his wand onto the flames that were eating at Malfoy. For the second time in his life, Harry feared that Draco was dead by his wand. But with a cough, he regained consciousness and, to Harry's astonishment, began to cry.


End file.
